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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29876061">Traveler's Waltz</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Anonymous' Peculiar Bookstore For The Lost and Found [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Dissociation, Enderman Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lots of Creative Liberties Will Be Used in Later Chapters, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Semi-Realistic Minecraft, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Strangers, Strangers to Friends, This Is Exactly That But Written and Lore, Traveling, Worldbuilding, You Guys Know Those Vibey Travel Montages on YT?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:29:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,212</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29876061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em> “Ten totems!” Wilbur barks, his voice bold and high in a snap of a finger. His eyes shone of promise as he laughed. “Ten totems and I’ll become your personal archive for anything, </em> <b> <em>anything,</em> </b> <em> you ever wanted to know about! Let me become your vessel, wanderer boy! Let’s trade.” </em></p><p>  <em> The hybrid tenses, lips thinning into a thin line. Every part of him was screaming that this was wrong. It was wrong. This adventurer, possibly not sound in his own mind, was offering to be his vessel of information. A vessel, just for a few totems. Everything about this was wrong. </em></p><p><em> The very thought was </em> <b> <em>wrong </em> </b> <em></em><em></em> <em> but, with his mind reeling from the influx of everything, he has to agree that Wilbur had brought a compelling arrangement. </em></p><p>----</p><p>Or: A wandering amnesic and a recently revived ex-president go totem hunting. Things arise, the two probably knew they would, but not in the way they expected.</p><p>[Rated Mature for Language, Graphic Violence, and Mature Themes]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dream SMP Ensemble &amp; Ranboo, No Romantic Relationship(s), Ranboo &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo &amp; Wilbur Soot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Anonymous' Peculiar Bookstore For The Lost and Found [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2243394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cover Page; Entry 1, 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>three months ago i noted how c!ranboo had collected lots of maps for totem hunting. i thought, wow, wandering traveler ranboo would be a cool au, i should write that.</p><p>i ended up 'writing that' and still have no idea how wilbur snuck in here, but i guess he's here too. and you now, apparently. i hope you enjoy the ride.</p><div>
  <p>also if you recognize anything from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042330">The Ultimate How-To</a> then hi, i am that same anon. i actually try in this fic, so i think its worth it to read haha.</p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hybrid awoke with a sharp gasp.</p><p>Ranboo, even while not knowing he was Ranboo at the time, felt a deep and sturdy pit spur in his abdomen as he stirred in the hastily-made bed. It tunnels deep inside him as soon as he gains consciousness, the rim flaring his skin, his insides.</p><p>He shivers underneath the covers in a vain attempt to stop it from gaping wider. The pained whimper that unconsciously came from pursed lips wasn’t heard amongst the static screaming how scared he was, how weak he was, how much of a hypocrite he was-</p><p>A… hypocrite? Compared to who?</p><p>
  <em>(You buried your face on the mattress as the world blurred, your mind feeling dangerously fuzzy. You could faint all over again. You hold the reins of his panic and breathe hard against the rough wool, in and out, barely keeping yourself conscious. It wouldn’t be good if you somehow repeated this all again.)</em>
</p><p>But, as all things do, the steep panic eventually faded as his mind waned, the tunnel in his chest stitching up to be a huge, vacant hole. The edges cooled down. He felt the hole was better than the pit. A hole confirms that the swirling stops at some point. That the spiraling falls and dies.</p><p>He stills in that one spot for some time, just in case. The mattress stinks of newly-made cloth and the wind pricks his skin. Sounds of animals grazing faintly sound in the background, unaware. It’s… No, he has to strain his thoughts. He awoke on a random bed in a random biome. ...Okay. This was apparently his life.</p><p>His arms wobble as he finally lifted himself off the bed, the wooden frame below croaking horribly. He adjusts his eyes to the sunlight filtering in the trees before steading himself. The dense trees tower above the hybrid, reaching to what seems like the block limit. Bushes and berries litter the area, ripe vines cluttering the forest floor. The air wasn't as suffocating as before.</p><p>A jungle biome? He began to look around the area, nodding as he pieced the situation together. Okay. Okay! This is good. He can deal with this.</p><p>His head swirls to see a random chest near the bed he was sitting on. His body freezes. Random bed. Random biome. Random chest.</p><p>
  <em>(A fuzzy echo bounces to mind. You don't recognize it right away and push it away.)</em>
</p><p>Where exactly is he?</p><p>He swallows and picks himself off the bed before looking down at his strange complexion. His suit was wrinkled and dirtied and loved. It wrapped around his tall, lanky figure proudly, only covered by the winter cloak draping over his shoulders. The fur collar hugs against his neck leads into a quiet baby blue cape that shelters his torso heavily. It was thick, warm, but wasn’t what he was focused on.</p><p>He gazed at his black, large hands that twinkled in the sunlight that flaunted off his anomaly large nails. Carefully they came up to his face, his ears, his horns. It felt familiar, almost comforting, to feel his baring teeth and stubby crown despite how chipped and weary they were. His tails flicked against his person and he turned instinctively. They stare pointedly, curiously, and he couldn’t help but stare back at the ender that coats their scales.</p><p>There’s two.</p><p>There’s two?</p><p>Weren’t there supposed to be two? His mind swirls with confusion as the two flickered lazily before him, the cogs in his mind working to imagine another being there. Or maybe one should be gone? His thoughts cluttered together and eventually fizzled out when he figured it was no use staring at what seemed like a wall. It was fine. Whatever it was he wasn’t too hurt by it, so it must be fine.</p><p>
  <em>(You forced yourself to look away with a breathy chuckle. You feel like you're going insane.)</em>
</p><p>Who <em>is</em> he?</p><p>He’s not human, that’s for sure. He analyzed the speckled black and white spots that dotted his arms for a while and enderman comes to mind. Enderman, randomly, and he quite likes the answer so he accepts it. It’s the only thing that comes to mind and he accepts that too.</p><p>His name is Ranboo. Huh. Nice.</p><p>The slowing influx of thoughts returned his gaze to the chest. Curiosity seeps through his veins as he takes a deep, settling breath. A sigh. This is the only thing that is here for him. He imagines survival at this state, barely knowing where he even was and cringes, hands already inching to open the foreboding box.</p><p>Come on… Enchanted golden apple. Enchanted golden apple. Enchanted golden apple..! ...Oh.</p><p>What’s inside the chest sadly wasn't enchanted fruit, which temporarily disappointed him, but his eyes caught something that piqued his interest much more. There was basic iron armor that he quickly glanced over, along with a few health pots, a weary communicator, a gold sword, and a pickaxe with so little durability he wished he never saw the thing. He picked through the loot without much thought before he saw them.</p><p>Bottles on bottles of ink, a feather pen, and three books. Two glowed a quiet purple that illuminates his face ever so slightly against the now setting sun. He stared at them.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>So many things clicked at once that Ranboo had blanked again, completely missing the heavy gloom of night. It took a whizzing arrow alarmingly close to his head to completely jerk him out of his stupor and, to be fair, he probably deserved it.</p><p>——</p><p>
  <em>Where are you?</em>
</p><p>“DreamSMP,” Ranboo replies with a grunt, lodging his axe into the skull of the sturdy jungle oak stump. The final amount of wood fell to the ground simultaneously. He picked it up with a long, satisfied sigh before storing it in his inventory before continuing. “Which is weird in itself.”</p><p>Yesterday, after getting way too close to death than he would’ve liked, the hybrid boy had panicked and dug himself a hole in the ground. He hadn’t brought any of the new loot that the chest had and didn’t have the energy to fight tons of mobs, so he stayed in the dark and waited till morning. He found out sometime amidst that sleepless night that talking out loud better materialized his thoughts. The winds don't cut in unless there's bad weather and the animals barely bat an eye, so it's fine. He talked to only the trees and didn’t allow himself to feel like an idiot.</p><p>“This server was whitelisted. I’m pretty sure it still is. I… I wouldn’t just wander in here unprompted.”</p><p>After he was positive the morning had come he had rushed for the books, his eagerness bubbling. The first one, the only book not signed and sealed, was completely blank. He guessed it was for him. He observed it carefully before he reached for the second; Memory Book.</p><p>Memory Book had instructions. Memory Book had answers. It affirmed that he was Ranboo. It affirmed that he was traveling on Dream’s Survival Multiplayer Server. It affirmed that he was okay.</p><p>
  <em>(Memory Book also affirmed that relief was powerful and almighty, somehow turning all your limbs into jelly at a flip of a page. Not wanting a repeat of yesterday, you had quickly crafted an axe and turned your mind off. You gained four stacks of jungle logs you didn’t need in a span of an morning and only grimaced. Jungle logs aren’t even that great.)</em>
</p><p>It didn’t say why he wanted to join the server in the first place, but he could piece that together himself. “I had a list. Something about winning an election. Drop-kicking a child? An— uh… ice cream stand?”</p><p>His stomach rumbles at the mention of food and he slowed his jog, walking inside his dirt base only to pick up his diamond sword from the chest. He noticed the distinct lack of cobblestone and noted he should mine after. “I need a furnace and some torches too,” he lamented, realizing all the work he’d have to do now that his tools are reduced to a sword, a wooden axe, and two slabs of iron waiting to fall off a stick. A part of him wishes there must be some way he could get a refund from these ‘tools.’</p><p>
  <em>(A part of you realizes that the Ranboo who gave you this stuff must’ve been much, much better off than this. You rushed off with a sudden urge to cut something again.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Who are you?</em>
</p><p>“A hybrid. An escapee. An absolute God!” He flung his sword out of his slot as he spared the thin air, laughing. He laughs now, but just hours ago he sat in a pitch-dark dirt hole and could offer nothing. The thought (or lack thereof) almost spurred him out of reality. Multiple times. Not very fun.</p><p>Ranboo was the person who signed Memory Book when he’d still remembered. A book of instructions. A book of answers. It was altered, he could tell from the worn spine a mile away, so he probably planned this too — whatever this is.</p><p>
  <em>(Ranboo was also the person who signed Do Not Read. The hastily scribbled text and heavy ink splatters made roots of unease rise and burrow underneath your blotchy skin. You promised yourself to return to it. Someday.)</em>
</p><p>Yet Ranboo was ultimately a person who will adapt to things. Most things. So he blindly accepts everything he did whilst he still remembered and prepares for the things he’ll do while he doesn’t. And he’ll definitely accept the melon patch that appeared during his scavenging, thank you very much.</p><p>
  <em>What are you going to do?</em>
</p><p>He grimaces, reaching for his sword out of his inventory. Shifting his weight side to side, Ranboo steadies his grip on the handle, focusing on his target. In milliseconds the blade was on the ground, a single melon was split unevenly, and he was conflicted.</p><p>“Well, that’s a tricky one.”</p><p>He couldn’t ignore that he was just an amnesic walking around a world that should be familiar. He only forgot what seemed like a blip in his memory — his knowledge on surviving seemed generally unaffected — but it was great enough to be a weakness. Adventurers can throw him off guard. He doesn’t know their intentions.</p><p>
  <em>Never allow adventures to see you. No matter what, never allow the adventurers to see you. They have strength in numbers and unpredictability I know, I know but weave out of their sight. Watch from the sidelines. You cannot make another mistake.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(The words had burned into your retinas by this point. In a span of hours you remembered every stroke, every splatter, and every tremble written on that page. On every page. The dried ink was frantic. You vowed to keep its words to your chest until you knew the truth for yourself.)</em>
</p><p>Memory book was a book of instructions, not a plan. It held rules he needed to abide by, not a goal he needed to achieve or an interest he can explore. Maybe he hadn’t thought this far, he thought, biting into a slice of melon as he sunk to the ground. Maybe he was too busy thinking.</p><p>What did Ranboo want to do? This Ranboo? He hadn’t really thought of that. There’s a deep survival instinct rooted in all adventurers when dropped into unfamiliar lands. It ignited in his chest as he hadn’t fully shaken the bounds of shock off his shoulders. Autopilot had taken the wheel in the morning, but as he realized the extent to his situation, the four stacks of jungle logs in his chest became increasingly more like a glaring dagger in his backside.</p><p>
  <em>What are you going to do?</em>
</p><p>“I… I don’t know.”</p><p>There’s a restless buzz in his bones that he mistakes for the juice from the sickeningly sweet melon he was holding. He thinks of a home as he rests and comes up short of anything.</p><p>——</p><p>There’s a river near the outskirts of the jungle. It’s loud, constantly gushing tons of water, dirt, and leaves down its path. The trees had littered off around this spot, letting the sun properly glisten the tides. It reflects in his mismatched eyes and had almost blinded him once.</p><p>The hybrid found the river some days ago, two weeks after he mysteriously woke up here. He comes down periodically to sit and stare at the surging water when he allows himself a break. Being so close to the liquid that literally burns his skin is uncomfortable, yes, but he has an unspoken attraction to it. A pent-up desire flickers in his heart whenever he's here, a desire he doesn’t want to admit just yet. Not yet, not until he’s sure…</p><p>Yeah. Not until he’s sure. That seems like a plan.</p><p>He had made progress in the past fortnight and a half. For starters, he had a mine now. A long, strenuous stripmine now underneath where his temporary dirt hole was. It took the hybrid hours of cobble to find enough veins iron and finally replace his shabby tools.</p><p>
  <em>(You still remember the emotions you felt when you finally found diamonds. You weren't drenched, you couldn’t sweat, but that didn’t stop your breathing coming in as lingering, labored gasps. Your arms felt numb and useless, but the rigid grip on your pickaxe only got tighter. In the midst of the annoyance from starting over from something you could easily argue never existed, diamonds always exuded a feeling of joy. Of pride. It runs over your drained body like liquid gold and you almost forget that it’s probably enough to only make some clunky boots.)</em>
</p><p>He now has a helmet and is inching closer to a chest plate each day. His goal is ultimately a full armor set to flaunt his <em>‘endless amounts of mass wealth’</em> with. He’ll finally show the mobs who’s boss, especially that one pesky skeleton with an enchanted golden chest plate that never seems to go away. “It’ll be funny,” he tells himself on the days where he’s lucky to get an ingot of iron. It’s not worth the half amount of time he puts into mining, but it takes his mind off other things that don’t need thinking about. He pictures himself screaming at a skeleton riding a chicken and chuckles underneath his breath. He’s downright hilarious.</p><p>Although spending most of his time underground, Ranboo does try to visit his farm periodically each day. He wasn’t a farmer by any means, but he had managed to grow melons and wheat with the small amount of seeds he managed to get from other crops. It’s small, a little too sweet, but substantial enough. It’s one step above the bare minimum and he could live with that.</p><p>He had made a living for himself. Sure, it was small and frail and temporary, but he had worked hard enough to not worry about what he was going to eat the next day. He had enough protection to defend himself from the occasional surprise creeper. He had done everything he needed to do for the day, for the next few days, to spend his time worrying over what now seems almost miniscule.</p><p>Ranboo <em>should</em> feel exhausted.</p><p>But he doesn’t. He sits next to the river that can easily scorch his skin in curious silence. In the bright clearing where only a few trees restrict and the roar of the riptides can be heard pierce the quiet air, the enderman feels a deep rustle underneath his limbs. It makes his hands restless in his lap and his eyes aimless.</p><p>Ranboo wasn’t exhausted by any means. He was, however, very, very bored. It should scare him, but he was also past the point of being scared. Precaution wasn’t very fun anyways.</p><p>The river served as slight satisfaction for the rampant itch for so long before it too got boring. He taps his fingers against his thigh thinking of what to do. He wonders where the river leads into.</p><p>...</p><p>“...Wa—Wait a minute! I can do that!”</p><p>He’s on his feet in an instant, popping his stiff bones before merrily following the stream. He hardly went exploring when he busied himself for survival. It burns the boredom that had set heavily in his bones in a way that didn’t involve seeing cobblestone for hours on end in some sort of backhanded bonus. Fun.</p><p>He didn’t care much for how long he had walked, busing himself looking around and noting his new surroundings. The air, instead of being mossy and humid, was cool near the river’s edge. It brought a sense of liberty he hadn’t experienced in either his mine or his farm. He was free, untethered by any responsibility freezing at his wrists. He was <em>free</em> and it bounced any remaining doubts out of his head.</p><p>The hybrid wasn’t sure why the resolution had rejuvenated him as much as it did but he whooped and ran and spun anyway. The waterside was practically a tightrope at this point. He dares himself to fall.</p><p>
  <em>(You did, eventually, right where the mouth of the river widened. You bit back a curse, flinched back from the water's edge and fell on your butt with a yelp, panting from the lack of oxygen in your lungs. You stay on the grass floor for far longer than needed, laughing between your wheezing attempts to catch air. The water finally quiets in your head.)</em>
</p><p>He notes there was nothing interesting near the estuary itself when he calms himself. The river now quietly filters through the stream, through the mossy opening of land and out to the shimmering blue ocean beyond. Soggy weeds extend out of the now muddy sides of the coastlines and obscure his vision. They ask him what he was expecting. Ranboo bats them away with a sigh, he honestly doesn’t himself. The curiosity that once heightened so furiously inside him had been pacified, set aflame before withering away. It left only ash and a prominent buzz he didn't know what to do with.</p><p>There’s a world out there. Ranboo mutters the mantra underneath his breath, looking beyond the ever expanding ocean. There’s a world outside his hidden stripmine, sweet melons and loud rivers. And of course he knew that — <em>of course</em> he knew with two books detailing a very different existence by his side — but he never saw it himself. He never saw it until a deep, painful blue was all that he could see. He never believed it until an island bordered with sea far, far away had revealed itself in the corner of his eye. <em>(You swore you could hold it in your bony hands if you reached far enough. You swore you could grasp it, pull it—)</em></p><p>There’s a world out there.<br/>He wants to go.</p><p>Aah, but he can’t. There’s too much he has to do, to think, before he does something as drastic as running away. He runs his curiosity into the ground before it gets a chance to flicker again.</p><p>
  <em>(A pent-up desire burns inside your heart, a desire you don't want to admit just yet…)</em>
</p><p>Ranboo still wasn’t sure what to make of the past self who remembered. He hasn’t recalled anything yet, he’s sure he won’t for a very long time, but the flutters in his heart at the exclamations of freedom felt very new for him to be reliving just a past jubilation. It made him wonder, just for a bit, what he was like just a few short weeks ago.</p><p>
  <em>(Not yet, not until you're sure. Not until you're sure.)</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong> <em>Ranboo’s Notebook</em> </strong>
  <br/>
  <span class="u"> <em>Entry 15</em> </span>
</p><p>
  <em>The river leads to a quiet estuary and a huge sea. Maybe it was an ocean. What qualifies as an ocean again? Note: Come back and check after mining.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I had fun running across the river’s side. It was really freeing. The trees don’t block the sun and there’s a small island across the lake/ocean. The sunset’s beautiful. Note: Come back— Wait, already noted that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know you don’t want to leave without being 100% sure, but something about there — no — going somewhere new in general is addictive. I can feel it. I’m sure you do too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What about the moment you make those diamond tools, you run? It sounds scary, but it would be fun. Fun but scary. I think I like that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’ll be one of those cool stories of travelers long ago. (Maybe without all the dramatic, dangerous bits but cool nevertheless?) You have the determination and soon the supplies; all you need is the courage to do it.</em>
</p><p>
  <strike> <em>Are you ready yet?</em> </strike>
  <br/>
  <em>I’m ready.</em>
</p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Entry 61, 63</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ranboo wasn’t so sure about this idea.</p><p>He should be sure, he spent multiple days deciding on whether or not he should be sure, but uncertainty rings clear in his head as he tries to catch up with the cloaked man ahead of him. It bubbles in his blood, screams in his ears, and shines in his eyes no matter how much he tries to hide it. He has heard the sayings red flags or alarm bells thrown around a couple times before, but he swears this is a whole fire alarm. This jittery apprehension spiked with the added (and ever-so increasing; by Ender help you this man is a <em> menace</em>) anxiety created a recipe of disaster for the unfortunate hybrid at the moment, struggling to not stumble over his own two feet as he tries to study his conflicting thoughts. </p><p>It’s been two months since he graduated from his temporary home in the midst of the jungle. The unease that had once tormented him long ago had completely disappeared once he worked up the courage to finally go somewhere new. The unprecedented limits to the places he could go gave so much freedom it felt borderline euphoric. It pushes the ground from beneath with boundless haste and forms weightless wings on his back. He swears he could fly when he roams beautiful biomes, meets friendly villagers, and raids dangerous mansions as he pleases. And despite the differences splattered upon his splotchy skin and mismatched eyes, he feels the most whole walking endlessly with nothing but his inventory on his back and his own voice as background noise. </p><p>In short, he enjoyed traveling very, very, much. </p><p>He knew that feeling didn’t end as he stopped himself from tripping <em> yet again. </em>It never ends as long as he goes somewhere on his own terms, which he confirms to himself he still is, just a little bit differently. The feeling, however, does nothing but fuel the fire for his nerves today. Wonderful. </p><p>Ranboo redirected his gaze to the person in front of him, the person solely responsible for causing him to jitter and sputter like a broken wind-up doll. The person donned in a simple cloak dyed in coffee brown and soot, a dull yellow sweater, and some worn down jeans. He’s almost a foot shorter than him and yet walks strong, steady strides that bleed so much confidence it nearly makes him sick. The confidence exudes from every part of his body in bold dignity and power. A confidence so strong it stains every word, every letter that barks from that man’s evasive mouth. A confidence so thick and so <em> constant </em>it blurs the lines between extreme ego and mild insanity. </p><p>His partner's name is Wilbur. Wilbur Soot. My, what a guy.</p><p>(It wasn’t like you hated the man. Wilbur was nothing but kind to you despite it being in an overall weird and devious way that causes your skin to crawl and shoulders tense whenever he merely looks your way. You chalk your flinching up to not talking to anyone so extraverted in a long time. Hell, you haven't talked to <em> anyone </em>but yourself in what seems like months, give yourself a break!)</p><p>Ranboo had yet to meet anyone that managed to give him consistent heart attacks like Wilbur does with only a knowing smile. It’s to the point that he had given up and started to see it as some sort of talent. And Wilbur knows this; Ranboo knows he knows — cheeky-grinned jerk — and seems happy to persist his quipping just for him! He absolutely <em> loves </em>it here. Really! </p><p>He wonders if he’ll be able to survive the high blood pressure from Wilbur’s antics if he kept up the delusion for long enough. Hopefully long enough for something as important as this business transaction, at least. </p><p>
  <em> Ranboo digs into his chest and swiftly pulls out two of his totems of undying; presenting both statues of gold to the sudden intruder that walked in his campsite with an unconvinced glower. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to achieve here, but he was running on a special type of panic only pure desperation can buy. He pushes them towards the adventurer, almost pleadingly, before remembering where the hell he was. </em>
</p><p><em> “I don’t know why you’re here,” he starts slowly, trying to maintain some threat in his voice. He ignores a tiny part of him saying any sense of warning went down with his dignity with a scowl. “But if you need totems, then here. Get them. I don’t care. Just get them and </em> <b> <em>go </em> </b> <b> <em>home."</em></b></p><p>
  <em> He wasn’t sure what did it, but the stranger’s smile broke at that moment. Ranboo forced his onslaught of glaring as the man’s gaze shifted between him and his chest with two other totems, eyes widening. Good, people should learn to fear him. Or give into greed. Whatever. He doesn’t care for the gold statues himself, he’s way more interested in the sport, so this adventurer can have them as far as he cares. As long as he never sees him again.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Unfortunately this doesn’t come to play as the adventurer grins yet again, pushing the totems away with only his finger. Ranboo couldn’t help the slight flinch that escaped him, quickly straightening back up when the adventurer queried with a silent eyebrow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I could,” the cloaked adventurer drabbled, clicking his tongue. His hoarse voice scraped the back of his throat as he held his cheek in false horror. “But that’ll be suspicious! What would ol’ Tommy say if he sees me with four totems so soon? God, what do you think I am, a fraud?” </em>
</p><p><em> Ranboo doesn’t answer as he watches the man remove his cloaked hood, revealing a mass of messy brunette hair half covered by a black beanie. Two crystal eyes dropped to his form, stood frozen in shock, as the man in front of him grins with nothing but teeth and pride. There’s a black mark </em> — <em> no, no three black marks on his left cheek, dusting over his otherwise pale skin like ash.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Wasn’t… Wasn’t that his— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Up for a trade, wanderer boy?” </em>
</p><p>It ended up being a whole ordeal Ranboo spent three whole days and nights lulling about. He spent three days and nights not sleeping a wink to draft up an entire agreement in case Wilbur thinks he could screw him over. He's an amnesic, maybe a bit curious, but not an idiot. </p><p>(You only got laughed at once, to be fair, and with how unpredictable Wilbur was you thought you were going to be performing as a clown rather than presenting a series of professional obligations. You believe that it’s better to be safe than sorry, but thank god you were safe this time.)</p><p>In the end, it didn’t matter what he thought of Wilbur now. The cloaked man could be as mysterious, eerie, and downright terrifying annoying as he wants. Ranboo just has to endure it for however long the next couple Woodland mansions before he could be alone and feel like he could fly again. He has to remember Wilbur wasn’t a friend, not even an acquaintance, but a professional business partner to do professional business things with. Even if he isn’t acting too professional at the moment. </p><p><em> Never allow adventures to see you. No matter what, </em> <b> <em>never </em> </b> <em> allow the adventurers to see you. They have strength in numbers and unpredictability I know, </em> <b> <em>I know </em> </b> <em> but weave out of their sight. Watch from the sidelines. We cannot make another mistake. </em></p><p>(The words had burned into your retinas by this point. In a span of hours you remembered every stroke, every splatter, and every tremble written on that page. On every page. The ink screamed at you, at your selfish decision, but you convinced yourself that things like this are okay. You aren't making another mistake. Just believe in yourself. Believe, believe, believe.)</p><p>Besides, the thing he’s after — the thing he <em> has </em>— is one of the most valuable things on this server.</p><p>
  <em> “What?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The strange adventurer shrugs, waving off his disbelief. It’s the most nonchalant the hybrid’s seen him so far. “Yep. Most of the server’s activity logs are gone. There might be some left retaining to the general SMP lying around, but I doubt you want to be so close in SMP territory, don’t you? Ha, we really put too much shit in that damned crater...” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ranboo only stares ahead in amazement. They burned them? All of them? He taps his thigh in an attempt to conclude that most of the previous activity records, the most reliable source of server history, were burned to a crisp that easily. Of course he knows that logs aren't indestructible despite being written by the server’s database, but even still… How did they manage that? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His first village the hybrid stayed had a respectable group of librarians living amongst it. Their library, as a result, had way more books than the average town. Of course with it came the usual catalogue of things that spawn with villages; enchanted books, general server logs, the regulars. However, what kept him in that room reading for hours on end was the archive of unique information he found. They had letters upon letters about abandoned structures on the SMP, lost notes of active adventures, and even a few fables commissioned by an anonymous author so detailed he almost believed them to be real.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ranboo learnt nothing from them. Whatever blinding mist that blocks his memories away had seemed to be relentless in its fight this time. The hybrid himself had stopped resisting long ago. Memory loss was something he accepted and losing energy to hopelessly rid it away would be idotic. But he still reads. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> One part of him speaks of common sense. Having information on the SMP is useful to him. Being completely new to his surroundings in a server roaming with unpredictable adventurers had always brought some sense of anxiety. Knowing where he was could save him from avoidable trouble. Could. This situation was entirely different than what the wildest parts of his imagination could come up with. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It speaks of limits, limits he knows he’s trespassing each time he catches himself reading tales he already read three times over. It argues within him that he could be doing other more responsible things and he almost agrees until he accepts that learning was fun. And he realized that it was fun learning about the story the SMP became just by traveling on its outskirts. He doesn’t want to be a part of the chaos, but digesting it on the outside was something so exciting. It felt terribly ironic in a strange way.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That village had come and gone as he went on to explore greater things, but a hunger for information had stitched itself inside him. And when the opportunity came on a silver platter, he tried to take it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Well, until they decided to burn their logs. He felt a hope wither right along with it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “...Oh,” Ranboo finally muttered. He truly had no words. He knows that most people can remember things just fine, but he could never wrap his mind around not having memories kept in a tangible form. Remembering, for him, was sacred. </em>
</p><p><em> The adventurer in front of him says nothing at his reaction, shrugging once more. “What’s done is done,” he laments. “Why did you even want those things? Do you plan to </em> <em> join </em> <em> the SMP?” </em></p><p>
  <em> Ranboo stifles a jump, his guard coming up again. He really needs to focus on the danger at hand. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t know,” he states with as much confidence as he can. To tell the truth, he never thought of coming back before. “But that’s exactly why I need those logs. I don’t know who you think I am, but I won't blindly step on your lands without knowledge.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That… That actually sounded somewhat legit! He should start making things up more often. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The man made a short hum of consideration. “I see. You’re smart, kid.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He should definitely start making things up more often. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His short high of jubilation was interrupted by the man gazing at his totems once more. He tapped his fingers in thought before sighing, lifting his eyes to the hybrid again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Do you know who I am?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ranboo shakes his head pensively. If he had been any more naive, he would’ve thought the man was a crazed homeless man that had somehow glitched through the server’s border. He knows better than that. And by knows better he means he thought he caught a glimpse of him once or twice while aimlessly checking the server list yesterday. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The man only smiles wider, more or less to his dismay. “The name’s Wilbur Soot! A revolutionary, a president, but more importantly, your ticket to the most knowledge you’ll ever receive in your entire lifetime!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The adventurer — Wilbur — steps forward, holding his hands out towards him. Ranboo couldn’t help but stumble back defensively, holding both gold statues to his chest as he glowered at the man. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What do you mean?” </em>
</p><p><em> “Ten totems!” Wilbur barks, his voice bold and high in a snap of a finger. His eyes shone of promise as he laughed. “Ten totems and I’ll become your personal archive for anything, </em> <b> <em>anything</em> </b> <em> , you ever wanted to know about! Let me become your vessel, wanderer boy! Let’s trade.” </em></p><p>
  <em> The hybrid tenses, lips thinning into a thin line. Every part of him was screaming that this was wrong. It was wrong. This adventurer, possibly not sound in his own mind, was offering to be his vessel of information. A vessel, just for a few totems. Everything about this was wrong. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The very thought was wrong but, with his mind reeling from the influx of everything, he has to agree that Wilbur had brought a compelling arrangement. </em>
</p><p>Cue the three days and nights of constant stress. Cue the series of agreements that sit innocently in his inventory. Cue the— ugh, he gets it already.</p><p>Ranboo was still worried about the whole thing, no doubt shown by his clear anxiety, but the chance to back out was dead and done days ago. This was going to be his travels for the near future and he has to survive it — and Wilbur — to even have the chance to use this understanding for himself.</p><p>(You realize it’s going to be harder than expected when Wilbur stops you from tripping for the third time. He gives a condescending smile instead of words and you could only sigh. Of course it would.)</p><p>——</p><p>The night was the perfect time to write for him. It provided the type of cool calamity the brightness of the day could never bring. His thoughts, usually a jumbled mix of information, settles down when the sky grows gray, almost like they knew he would soon jot them down. It was what mellowed him out at the end of a day, even if he would lose those memories in the morning.</p><p>Ranboo was finishing up an entry in his journal, the light of the campsite bouncing off his face and a silent tune on his lips, when Wilbur finally comes back from the river not too far from their makeshift camp. He doesn’t notice until he speaks up, reacting only a glance up when he does so. </p><p>“You have the extra logs for the fire?” The adventurer asks. Ranboo hums a positive, lifting a finger to the discarded pile of logs to the left of the campsite. He’s back to writing in his notebook the moment Wilbur understands, leaving the elder pouting. </p><p>“I wanted a conversation, boy.” Wilbur sighs, an edge of whininess to his voice, as he slumped into a seat next to the fire. It took the hybrid’s attention. He looks back up to the cloaked man in front of him, tails bristling against his back.</p><p>“I’m sorry?” He replies, confusion clear in his voice. He lowers his notebook. “I’m not sure about what we would talk about; most of our chores are done already.”</p><p>To be honest, the two hadn’t talked much before this. Wilbur had always led the way, chaos personified but calculated in stride and Ranboo had no problem silently following after him. He most definitely didn’t want to be a part of his havoc in any way. As a result their conversations were always stilted in unconfronted tension.</p><p>The cloaked man huffed, leaning his head on his cheek. “I’m bored.”</p><p>Ranboo took the opportunity to look down at his notebook. The entry lies unfinished. “I’m sorry you feel like that, Sir.”</p><p>The two proceed to sit in a beat of ugly, uncomfortable silence. Ranboo felt pressured even if Wilbur’s eyes weren’t on him anymore, heedlessly bouncing his leg to release that tension. Why did he had to began this stupid conversation in the first place? Now they’re both stuck in a silence that felt way more like quicksand!</p><p>He sighs before gazing down at his forgotten feather pen by his side. Maybe he could…</p><p>“Don’t call me Sir.”</p><p>Yeah, no. Of course. Because that would be <em> too </em>easy.</p><p>“Okay, Sir.” He mumbles carelessly, still reaching for his feather pen. He catches himself a second later, waving his hand at the pensive human. “Sorry, force of habit.”</p><p>It was Wilbur’s turn to sigh, bringing both of his hands to his face. “Why do you insist on calling me Sir? I am nothing of the name, you bore witness clothes on my back.”</p><p>If Ranboo could blink to complete what he heard, he would. He only stares ahead instead, putting them in that bubble of awkward silence again.</p><p>...Okaay. He couldn’t deny that Wilbur was apparently dramatic just all the time. He quietly notes it down in his book, getting a groan in reply.</p><p>“Calling each other by our first name seems… weird,” the hybrid finally replies. He holds up a finger matter-of-factly. “If this is supposed to be a business transition, then we should act like business partners. It’s… Uh… a matter of respect?”</p><p>He trails off when Wilbur’s eyes stare at him. He had long since averted his own to avoid eye contact, but he could feel Wilbur’s eyes judging him all the same. They plunged into the depths of awkward silence for the third time, this time amplified by tenfold by Wilbur’s glare.</p><p>“I… I won’t call you Sir anymore if you feel uncomfortable!” he squeaks, ringing his hands together anxiously. Oh ender he’s still <em> staring </em> . “I just won’t call you Wilbur either... I mean! I would if you really <em> really </em> wanted it, but it’ll make me <em> very </em> <b> <em>very </em> </b>uncomfortable, just as a warning.”</p><p>The only thing that changed from his expression was the fact his eyebrow was now arched. Ranboo could himself flush purple in defeat, dunking his head away from view as unease crept upon his soul. His nails gripped into skin, careful to not bleed but furiously enough to keep his mind from going very far away.</p><p>“I would appreciate it if you don't stare that much,” he mumbles, flushing darker. Wilbur only blinks. “It also makes me uncomfortable because, y’know, enderman and all.”</p><p>Wilbur’s eyes were only on him for a brief second after, squinting, before he removed them with a muttered apology. Ranboo couldn’t help the deep sigh that escaped him, his shoulders sagging as the tension left from upon them.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he whispers. Everything but the embarrassment left him, increasing more as he realized he’s practically a shivering ball of limbs on the ground. So much for confidence. “It’s okay, just, please remember next time.”</p><p>From the corner of his eye he sees him nod and it fills him with relief. He couldn’t care less if the man meant it or not.</p><p>The nod gave birth to yet another bout of awkward silence. (We had hit three in a row by this mark, you note mentally. What luck they have!) Ranboo doesn’t mind as much as before as he physically recuperated from Wilbur’s sudden staring contest. It took a few minutes but the hybrid had almost regained his ability to function like a normal person, reverting to sitting with his leg jumping and his eyes glaring firmly at the floor. The embarrassment had never left his face permanently, leaving a faint purple hue dusting his cheeks.</p><p>His book had fluttered in his lap and— oh! Oh right, he had his book. He reads over the text to refresh his memory; his recollection already beginning to feel spotty. A hum doesn’t wait to interrupt him before long.</p><p>“If we aren’t supposed to refer to each other by our names, then what can I call you? You’re exclusively first names, aren’t you? Or are you just too shy to say it?”</p><p>And he thought he was done for the day! Please just let him be done for the day!</p><p>“I… I haven’t thought of that,” he says with a grimace. He doesn’t bother hiding it, the polite side of him has withered away with the eye contact, just like his remaining energy. “And no, I don’t have a last name. I’m not human.”</p><p>Wilbur clicks his tongue, shrugging. “What ‘bout Wanderer boy?”</p><p>“Please don’t call me Wanderer boy.”</p><p>“Why not? It never made you uncomfortable before.”</p><p>“It goes against the whole reason why I’m doing this in the first place!” Ranboo insists, dropping the book in his lap. He’s on the verge of begging again, he realizes, shrinking in an instance. Wilbur tilts his head to the side with a small smile, no doubt noting the flaw in character. The hybrid hisses. “Professionalism, <em> Sir </em>.”</p><p>“Oh,” Wilbur drones, lazily drawing out the ‘o’ in the sentence. Ranboo waits. </p><p>“Well, I quite like the name, I do! It fits nicely.”</p><p><em> “Wha… What do you even mean?” </em>His energy was sapped. He likes to think he was patient at least some of the time, but now he was beyond exasperated. He just wants to finish his notebook entry... “I’m not a child.”</p><p>“Really now? How old are you?”</p><p>Ranboo squints, trying to think, before shaking his head. “I don’t know? About 16 to 18 in human years? I barely keep track.”</p><p>“What about enderman years?” Wilbur hums. Ranboo frowns.</p><p>“We don’t have years, we have <em> ends </em>which are—”</p><p>“How old are you, Ranboo?”</p><p>And like that the flush is back to darkening his face. He looks away, ignoring how his leg jumps when he had somehow found to stop it just earlier. Wilbur was ever the observant and expectant, unfortunately. He sighs deeply.</p><p>“I’m one—” </p><p>Wilbur’s laugh was loud, rusty, and undeniably his. His grimace grows wider as he watches the human double over himself, failing to take in air because of his constant laughing. Great.</p><p>“I’m one <em> and three quarters </em>,” he repeats, louder, but Wilbur wheezing only grows. Great.</p><p>“You’re—” Wilbur interrupts himself by laughing, rolling on the grass from the pain in his side. “You’re one?! A one year old, alone on a SMP, searching for totems? Ha, are you kidding me?! Do you want a pacifier, wanderer boy? A blanket, maybe?”</p><p>Ranboo says nothing as the human continues to roll from laughter, dirtying the clothes he just washed. He doesn’t say anything about how ends were more like levels of advancement than age, that his actual age was as much as a mystery to any other enderman ever, and lets the man believe he has the mentality of an infant. <em> Great </em>. </p><p>He waits until his laughs have calmed down, writing in his notebook as he does so. He finally, <em> finally </em>, finishes the entry he was working on and was about to put the item back into his inventory before a voice stopped him.</p><p>“You don’t mind being called Ranboo?”</p><p>The hybrid glances at the man lying on the grass, still heaving. His eyes were to the stars beyond. He opens his mouth to speak before pausing, dumbfounded, staring at himself. </p><p>“I don’t,” he concludes slowly, taking in the sight of his hands. The marks from his nails had thankfully faded away at this point. The black and white incomplexies stayed though, they always stayed and reminded him who he was. </p><p>His hand reaches out to rub a row of gray freckles on his forearm and he thinks.</p><p>“I don’t.” Ranboo repeats, stronger, working up the confidence to gaze at the man laying in the grass. He really doesn’t and he finds it weird. </p><p>The quiet flame before them was the only thing that illuminated their faces, catching the way Ranboo frowned in something close to desperation. Not quite exactly, never exactly, but something teetering very, very close. </p><p>“Let me call you something else. It’ll make me less anxious.”</p><p>Wilbur is quiet, for once, before he gradually moves to sit up. His weary bones creaked as he stretched, Ranboo’s mismatched eyes watching him for the entire way. He waits.</p><p>“Call me Soot,” he replies, brushing the dirt out his tangled hair before grabbing his beanie that fell. He stood before Ranboo could even speak in protest.</p><p>“I’m going to shower and clean my shit again before guarding. Watch camp.” The man was already walking away as he said so, leaving him a little wave before nothing at all. The hybrid could only stare ahead in a stunned silence.</p><p>Wilbur, instead of bringing him overwhelming amounts of anxiety or dread again, felt almost normal when he left. It confused him greatly, causing him to try and find where the lines of confidence and insanity met. Where was Wilbur in that complicated venn diagram?</p><p>He shakes his head as he comes up short, jotting another note in his notebook.</p><hr/><p>
  <b> <em>Ranboo’s Notebook</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u"> <em> Entry 63 </em> </span>
</p><p>
  <em> I keep thinking about our agreement. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t know why I keep thinking about it, but I’m not sure if I regret it. I’m not exactly proud either but I don’t… I don’t regret it. I don’t think I do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wilbur and I are still traveling to the nearest village for supplies. Wilbur has a map, but no weapons. Not even a shield. It’s weird, but that man is weird overall, so I shrugged it off. It’s been a week, you shouldn’t be surprised anymore. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Anyways, Wilbur’s map says it's close. I hope we reach the village by tomorrow. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Notes: </em>
</p><ul>
<li><em>Wilbur is apparently dramatic all the time. To the point that he speaks like that, regularly. I don’t know why this is important, but I feel like you should be warned. </em></li>
</ul><p> </p><ul>
<li><em>He laughed a lot when I told him I was one (which isn’t even true, you are one and three quarters, almost two!) which both annoyed and surprised me. I didn’t know that the man was capable of laughing normally. I’m not sure if I even want to experience that again.</em></li>
</ul><p> </p><ul>
<li><em>Call Wilbur “Soot”. He doesn’t like Sir and I don’t think I like calling him Wilbur. It’s a compromise of <b>soots</b>. Haha. Get it? You’re going to hate yourself in the morning, but believe me, you are the funniest person on the planet. </em></li>
</ul><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the good thing about time skips is that we're closer to funny numbers.</p><p>anyways, awkwardness is going to be a running theme in this fic. i mean, you clicked on a Ranboo-centric fic for goodness sake, what did you seriously expect?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Entry 64</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning: manipulation and dissociation are present in this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “...What.” </em>
</p><p>Wilbur only smiles at his confusion, the daylight illuminating his condescending grin. He moves to leave but the hybrid grasps his heavy sleeve before he could do so, scowling.</p><p>“What do you mean?” the human asks, tilting his head innocently. As if. “Raiding a village isn’t the end of the world.”</p><p>“We could have gone for emeralds in the last village we went!”</p><p>The human taps his fingers against his chin, giving a sigh. “To be fair, we were a bit busy.”</p><p>“Trading takes a second, Soot.”</p><p>“Then why didn’t you do it?” Wilbur’s smile is shifty and he almost wants to punch it in. Almost.</p><p>He hates to give the man credit, but Ranboo was busy drafting up their agreement. The whispers in his head had covered his ears as they spoke of anything that could go wrong, everything <em> could </em>go wrong. He fed into them despite himself and forgot anything else, including his dwindling emerald supply. </p><p>He was going to resupply himself after his last totem raid, but ender above knows how that plan derailed. </p><p>“Why didn’t <em> you </em>do it?” He quips instead, already feeling himself slip into meekness. The man only shrugs. With quickly diminishing anger and nowhere to direct it, he drops the man’s sleeve with a groan. </p><p>It was not long after the sun rose that Wilbur announced his plan of raiding their next village. Ranboo had barely rubbed the sleep out of his eyes when he heard it, but the idea had quickly spurred him awake. He sure didn’t agree on that.</p><p>“I’m not raiding anything but woodland mansions,” he states, more to himself than to the human standing in front of him, curling into himself. That was his final decision, he thinks, even when Wilbur cocked his eyebrows as he gazes at him. </p><p>“You act like you haven’t stormed a village before.”</p><p>“Not on this server,” Ranboo frowns. The man rolls his eyes. “I plan to keep it that way.”</p><p>“What a saint you are, boy.” Wilbur comments before kicking dirt into their exhausted campfire. The sarcasm in his voice was heavy but he thankfully leaves the subject alone as he packs up.</p><p>“Thanks,” the hybrid mutters, bitter spoiling his voice. He has his reasons to be in debt with the villages on this server. Soot couldn’t take that from him. </p><p>He’s <em> not </em>raiding a village today. </p><p>They pack up effortlessly, leaving their campground exactly the way they found it as they once again start trekking the woods. Wilbur says nothing during the venture, leaving Ranboo to figure out what they were going to do with their little emerald issue.</p><p>Every adventurer knows that emeralds were important when visiting villages. Without them, you could very well be seen as an intruder by everyone else living in the area. Harsh, but Ranboo understands. Most villages rely on trades for their economy. It silently became a staple point for society for them over the many years adventurers and villagers had interacted. To show up at a village without emeralds would be a sign of extreme disrespect.</p><p>The thought brings anxiety he quickly stifles down with a swallow, trying to stay rational. He knows he has some emeralds in his inventory, enough to buy only food for a night, but still something. Seeing how Soot’s first thought was to raid a village he assumes he doesn’t have much either. He hopes it's enough for them to put their funds together to buy decent weapons and amour. The thought that they’re mainly for Wilbur’s sake stains him with an unprecedented bitterness. Still, this totem hunt will suck a whole lot more that it already has without them.</p><p>They hike through the plains in still silence. The scenery had only slightly changed from when they met, the temperate forest thinning out into large open plains. The only thing that tried to block their path was the onslaught of weeds that waved at their ankles. The boundless green pasture has been their only scenery to the point that it sickened him. He redirects his gaze to the sky.</p><p>Silence has been just as familiar as the vibrant green painting the landscape. It expands throughout their entire journey, only thickening with the blades of grass beneath their feet. It's one of the only constants that stayed with them both, an invisible earmuff muffling the rest of the world. He’s gotten to know the quiet so well that it took a few moments to recognize that the distant shouting wasn’t in his head.</p><p>The thing about plains biomes is that they exposed everyone and everything. The village out in the distance, although still very far away, stuck out like a sore thumb. </p><p>He paused, his persistent nerves coming back to haunt him. Wilbur doesn’t take long to notice, turning with a gentle sway of his cloak. He gazed at the hybrid curiously. </p><p>“Soot, I’m leaving if you raid this village.” </p><p>He almost surprised himself with the actual threat that slipped from his lips. Wilbur stays generally unaffected, a lazy smile dancing on his lips. They lock eyes.</p><p>
  <em> “Soot.”  </em>
</p><p>Ranboo hopes the human doesn’t see the way he tightly clutched his dress shirt, nerves clear in the way his hands shook in growing apprehension. Ignoring all his primal instincts to flee away from here, to shake his gaze off of his pleading body, he stared right in the human’s dirty hollow eyes. Ranboo, for once in his life, challenged another.</p><p>In order for this transaction to be over without any regrets. In order to not make another mistake…</p><p>Wilbur averts his eyes sooner than he expected. The hybrid freezes, relishing in a mix of relief and confusion. </p><p>“It’s not worth getting into a fight for this. We’ll waste time."</p><p>His words were picked with a thin veil of delicacy and secrecy. The hybrid wasn’t sure if he wanted to unveil the truth from his concealing voice.</p><p>Wilbur clicks his tongue, effectively snapping him out of gaping at the cloaked man. He immediately scatters to Wilbur’s side when he starts walking. </p><p>“Please tell me that you have a plan for this,” Ranboo pleads quietly, still recovering from the painful stare-off. His sporadic thoughts were still intensified, loudly echoing in his head with each step he took. Wilbur shakes his head before turning to him. His smile was tight.</p><p>“Of course,” he insists, his voice tipping dangerously low. Oh. He’s serious.</p><p>The hybrid nods somberly, returning them back into a silence that held more tension than quiet.</p><p>The two arrive in the village easily, hiding themselves in the activity of it all. The hybrid knew where they were going without looking up once. The marketplace, located in the heart of many villages, had always been first place many go when locating a village. They’re usually loud and easily spottable, easily becoming a reliable space where most villagers trade at.</p><p>This one was surely no different as the background sounds dramatically picked up in volume. Traders screamed out items and prices to potential customers. Bets, prizes, and curses all rang in the air. He was already well used to the chaotic nature of marketplaces, his eyes only lifting from the floor to see where Wilbur was still walking.</p><p>Wait, why was Wilbur still walking? The tradesmen were right here.</p><p>He doesn’t dare ask him about it, stopping in the middle of a crowd like this will most likely separate them, but he still noted how Wilbur strode with the same confidence he always had. He wonders what he's planning despite his wariness.</p><p>“Ranboo.”</p><p>He jolts, eyes tearing away from the floor to look at Wilbur. The man still had his voice hushed, quiet in the gravity of the moment. </p><p>“Have you ever pick-pocketed someone before?”</p><p>“Pick-pocketing...?”</p><p>Wilbur had ushered them in an alleyway, away enough to not drift away from the dense crowd. They actually had traveled a little ways away from the actual marketspace itself, most of the mob thinning out by where they stood. </p><p>Wilbur hums affirmative, clapping his hands together. The sound is barely heard amongst the rabble nearby. He shakes his head. </p><p>“Very well,” he sighs, not making any effort in masking his disappointment. What did he actually expect? “It’s easier with villagers, they don’t have inventories to worry about like we do. Just bump against them and steal as many emeralds from their pockets. Don’t let them feel a thing.”</p><p>Ranboo pauses, trying to cram the information in his already overclocked brain. He’s asking him to pickpocket? Him, the clumsy, 6’9 hybrid that had tripped over his two feet thousands of times. Him, the person who just asserted they <em> weren’t </em>doing any crimes here.</p><p>Well, he didn’t exactly say it, but he knew he at least set the precedent. He hides a scowl, lips thinning into a straight line.</p><p>“You-”</p><p>Wilbur cuts him off with his absent hand, glancing from behind him. A series of notes played followed shortly after, causing the man to break out into a grin. </p><p>He glances over the human’s shoulder to see a villager strum a guitar, his focus solely on the instrument he tuned. A lone hat sat by his side.</p><p>Guitars, along with most complex musical instruments, were rare. They don’t have crafting recipes like most things do, making them near impossible to make if you weren’t extremely skilled in the craft. The sound of a guitar was seen as a delicacy to him, and judging by the reactions of the villagers who were around, to many others too.</p><p>Ranboo’s eyes widened as the lone notes slowly turned into song. Villagers had already started to gather around the man with the instrument, hauntingly silent as to hear the melody. Someone placed an emerald into the hat as the song progressed to its chorus. Soon, another bustled to the musician's impromptu stage to tip another emerald. </p><p>The hybrid turned back to Wilbur when the number of tippers had doubled, eyebrows furrowing. The emerald filled hat had only made him sick when he realized his goal was to <em> pickpocket.</em></p><p>“What exactly are you planning?”</p><p>“Guess.” Wilbur’s voice, although still strained with tension, had undertones of glee, of pure excitement. His stomach drops. “We’re looking at a literal emerald farm right now.”</p><p>Ranboo staggers back, tripping on his feet before the cold, bare wall presses against his back. He leans against it, gathering his thoughts before lifting his eyes up. </p><p>“This…” He falters, hands wildly gesturing the air. He could barely hear his own hushed voice amongst the song playing in the background and his own racing heartbeat. “This is <em> still </em>wrong. Listen, I know you have some spare emeralds in your inventory. We can buy weapons if we pull our funds together. We can do without this.”</p><p>Wilbur frowns, raising an eyebrow. “And then what?”</p><p>“And then…” Ranboo breaths in a shuddering breath, the tension in the air almost suffocating him. He hates how he couldn’t meet his eyes more than once a day, how weak he must look cowering from a single question. His thoughts, already feral and ruthless, blare like screeching trumpets in his head. He loses his words.</p><p>In order for this transaction to be over without any regrets. In order to not make another mistake.</p><p>What is he even doing here?</p><p>“I don’t know,” he finally whispers. “But we can think about that later when-”</p><p>“What about a place to live other than shitty campsites while traveling? What about a full meal to eat instead of the occasional steak? Ranboo, you know as good as me that being selfless gives you absolutely <em> nothing </em>in this world. Grow up.”</p><p>Ranboo wilted underneath his hard gaze, his knuckles growing white as he wrangles his shirt.</p><p>“...I didn’t ask to steal from anyone.”</p><p>“It’s either this or a raid,” Wilbur spats. His grip becomes tighter. “Do you want to pick emeralds from a bloody corpse instead?”</p><p>Ranboo swallows hard, his body reduced to nothing but a trembling mess. He cannot bring himself to bark up another strong reply, opting to avoid his deadly gaze like a hawk.</p><p>“...Okay,” he mumbles, biting back another scowl. His fingers began to numb around the soft fabric. “F-Fine. Just this once.”</p><p>From the corner of his eye he could see Soot grin like a madman. He hates this. </p><p>“Good decision.” The human backs away with a bonce, turning back to the musician. The crowd had almost doubled from when they last saw it. “I’ll distract them more if you're nervous. Give you a signal before you get yourself caught, yeah?”</p><p>Ranboo grimaces, riding out his steady anxiety train as his trembles slowly died out. His eyes stay focused on the red ground. “Sure.”</p><p>The human was gone by the time he attempted to look up again. He pauses, his eyes slowly scanning the area before he saw Wilbur was on the damn stage. He sucks in a breath of apprehension as the man chatted away with the poor villager, a cocky smile spread on his face</p><p>“Can I, and only if you mind, challenge you to a duel? It’s all in good fun, of course! I just never seen anyone remotely know how to play guitar in a very long time.”</p><p>What is he even doing?</p><p>Although the musician lends him the guitar without a second thought. Wilbur brings an empty bucket out of his inventory, generously placing it with the hat over brimmed with money, before flinging the leather guitar strap over his shoulder. </p><p>He plays a few chords, his face creased in a dedication he never saw from the human before, before starting up his turn. If he didn’t know better he would’ve thought the sudden sound had burst from the guitar itself, the song loud and raw in his ears. It suited Wilbur.</p><p>Ranboo takes in a final breath to compose himself. It seems like he would be stealing whether he liked it or not, and as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, pickpocketing didn’t leave people dead. So he waited in the depths of this dingy alleyway until Wilbur turned and nodded to him, flinging himself into a crowd that was way too quiet to be natural.</p><p>Trying to steal was an entire song and dance in itself. The hybrid’s feet pranced along the dirt path as he bumped into villagers he didn't have enough confidence to pick from. The worst thing was that the villagers barely reacted at all, still deeply hypnotized by the music. It flustered him beyond belief.</p><p>Once he made the mistake of looking up during his pickpocket endeavor to see Wilbur’s eyes directly on him. It was like he knew he hadn’t collected anything, and knowing both Wilbur and himself, the human probably did. He looks back down almost instantly, trying to ignore the man’s judging stare. What did he expect from him? Stealing wasn’t really a strong suit he has, especially when the man springs it up on him only minutes beforehand. He’s lucky that he even agreed to do this in the first place--</p><p>He turns to see a pack full of emeralds hanging off someone’s shoulder. The leather cover was carelessly swinging by the side, making room for the numerous emeralds to gaze at him. They shone with his own stunned reflection. </p><p>Oh. </p><p>The situation had presented itself in a way he could not get out of. He could technically pretend to not see it, but Wilbur was watching. The idea sent unwanted shivers down his spine. </p><p>He bites his lip, internally praying to whatever deity is out there for forgiveness, before grabbing as many emeralds into his inventory. He directs his gaze to the ground until his hands grasp at empty leather and nothingness. He pauses for a moment, his brain trying desperately to figure out <em> what the hell just happened, </em> before turning on his heel and running off for his next victim. He doesn’t want to think.</p><p>He thinks about anything else. He thinks about how Wilbur’s song was still blasting in his ears, slowly rising in it’s steady tempo. He thinks about how his legs were covered in red dirt and grime from his prancing, how his weary feet shout from exhaustion from walking thousands of blocks in days. He thinks about his lips now bleed a deep magenta as metallic spills to his tongue. He thinks about how his inventory was getting heavier and heavier.</p><p>Ranboo should stop now. </p><p>He should, but Wilbur still plays. He could hear the screeching of the strings from here. Wilbur’s playing was like his eyes, always watching. Controlling. And here he was, dancing like a wind up doll to his whim. Just like a wind up doll, ha. Funny how that had become something familiar.</p><p>Wait… <em> what? </em></p><p>He jolts to the sound of a person shrieking. It was loud enough to interrupt even the music playing, leaving the air dry and dreadfully silent.</p><p>They scream of missing emeralds.</p><p>Ranboo tenses as the once still crowd rumbles to life as they realized their emeralds were missing too. They anger at a bat of an eye, resorting to shouting and wrestling and mourning. The musician looks upon the crowd in shock. Wilbur only sighs, motioning to remove the guitar strap off his shoulder. </p><p>Ranboo, unable to cope with the finality of his deeds seizing him, bolts. </p><p>He ran despite his vision obstructed from the wind beating against his face and the dirt he kicked up. Away from Wilbur. Away from that crowd. Away from everything. A part of him knows that he’s being a coward, but his flight or fight response had overpowered every other thought he had. Besides, even with his memory problems, he always knew he was a coward.</p><p>He trips in the middle of the woods (When did you get to the woods? Wasn’t it far off?), his exhaustion finally taking hold. He doesn’t attempt to stand back up. Instead, he heaves and pants and wonders how it all went so wrong so quick.</p><p>(Memory book was right.)</p><p>Memory book was <em> right… </em>Oh, oh god…</p><p>He doesn’t register Wilbur finding him some time later. The human had apparently led him to their safe haven for the night: a ransacked barn a little away from the village they once was. The hybrid could barely hear his words from the soft nothingness that clouds his mind, only catching bits and pieces before his head decides to float far far away. </p><p>He doesn’t feel anything when Wilbur congratulates him. For now, he doesn’t mind it at all.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b> <em>Ranboo’s Notebook</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u"> <em> Entry 64 </em> </span>
</p><p>
  <em> Wilbur and I stole emeralds from a village today.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don’t remember much of what happened, but I still feel terrible. Emeralds are a villager’s livelyhold. We could’ve stolen from people who really needed it. We could’ve ruined people’s lives. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s all my fault. I could’ve stood up to him. I’ve done it before--</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Soot had apparently played guitar there. He gained a lot. We have 3 stacks of emeralds between us and he’s over the moon. He says that being selfish is a survival instinct in itself. I had to excuse myself to the attic when he first said it. Even now, it makes me sick. People could have died from what we did today. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> People could have…. </em>
</p><p><em> Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe you will wake up tomorrow morning and realize we did absolutely nothing to impact that village. But, if you choose to remember anything from this entry, remember that Wilbur </em> <b> <em>isn’t </em> </b> <em> your friend. You still don’t know who exactly Wilbur is to you, but he definitely isn’t your friend. Remember that.</em></p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so, yeah, life is suffering for the docile enderman hybrid.</p><p>anyways i was going to come back after my impromptu hiatus, but recent lore happenings had forced my hands. are you excited for canon to completely fuck over this story? (as if it hadn't already)</p><p>sorry for such infrequent updates but work has been unmercifully kicking my ass. i promise i am grateful for all the love this work received. ill be back in a few weeks, promise &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>before you leave i would like to get a few things straight!</p><p>1.  this work starts getting canon divergent after Ranboo's first "confrontation." stream in january 2021. the prologue also begins a few weeks after the disc war finale. this story focuses less on general smp lore at first, but i feel as if i should warn you of the time set back anyways. </p><p>2. please keep in mind, especially during more darker chapters, that this work only features dsmp characters and not the ccs! everything written is about the fictional block people on the funny block game and does not at all reflect my view on the people who play them. </p><p>3. most characters don't reveal themselves in the first few chapters. they will be here with time, don't worry. </p><p>thank you for giving this story the time of day! maybe leave a kudos (and a comment, perhaps?) before you're out the door?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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